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(03/20/14 1:00pm)
We didn’t ask for this to be easy. We didn’t come to Penn looking for a relaxing four–year spring break. Those arriving to NSO ignorant of their new home’s bevy of intimidating epithets (pressure cooker, boot camp, the School at the End of the World, etc.) are either in denial or not so good at Google. We signed up for hell, and damn have we got it in abundance around here.
(10/03/13 9:33am)
Beneath a canopy of crucifixes, I train my gun on a cowering creep with a major hard–on for Jesus. He’s a freak, but he’s morally innocent. My choices stand as follows: spare him and potentially never save my kidnapped son, or blow his brains out and get one step closer to my little boy. My options have been laid out by his captor, and I have five seconds to pick. My hands shake and so does the gun. My son, or my moral purity?
(09/24/13 4:00pm)
Like every other fad-tracking fool, I got the Macklemore haircut this summer. Shaved the sides, left the top long, strutted out from the barber feeling like a progressive pop star, albeit shorter and more modestly dressed.
(03/30/13 2:27am)
After a four-year hiatus, OneRepublic frontman Ryan Tedder’s cotton candy falsetto is back and in top flighty form. “Native” is soil oozing between your bare toes, the sound of waves crashing beyond a campfire. Its catchy, lilting first track “Counting Stars” sets the stage for an album that is equal parts bottomless night sky and searing sunshine. While the band’s surging orchestral motifs return in tracks like “Preacher” and “Au Revoir,” “Native” charts new territory by edging into Top 40 electro territory with the album’s ecstatic second single, “Feel Again.” Though studded with occasional low points (“What You Wanted” is a drag, “Light It Up” is swallowed by its own angry sound), OneRepublic serves up an earthy album for newcomers, avid hikers, and longtime fans alike.
(02/14/13 10:00am)
So will go the bedtime stories of the future wearers of “I met my spouse at Penn!” buttons. While setting holographic alarm clocks and tucking 1000 thread–count sheets below the chins of their privately educated children, Proud Penn Spouses will tell their tales of Walnut Street wooing and courting by the compass. And the fantasy will persist for another generation.
(11/01/12 9:34am)
Standing on the corner of 43rd and Market with my weight in canned food sitting like a ton of steel inside my housemate’s hiking–sized megabackpack, my spine caving into an awful kind of inverted “U,” I truly began to understand the concept of the sophomore slump. It’s year two of my college career, it feels as though someone’s hammering a railroad spike into the base of my skull, I’ve got papers on papers to write and Armageddon in the form of Hurricane What’s–Her–Name (Sandy? Mandy? Ann Romney?) is barreling up the East Coast to bitch–slap my dilapidated old frat house and probably leave us with no option other than to pee in our dilapidated old garden.
(10/31/12 12:20am)
Oh my god. Supreme Shop n Bag is freaking NUTS. Word on the street was FroGro was out of water (how does anyone run out of WATER), so my housemates and I were forced to join in the pilgrimage to Supreme, the retro–looking shop stop on 43rd and Walnut shared by Penn students and West Philadelphians alike. And my god, were there Penn students and West Philadelphians alike. Some shopped cautiously and casually, keeping their cool and picking up the essentials while others were freaking the fuck out.
(09/27/12 9:00am)
Don't Leave Home Without:
(09/20/12 9:05am)
Compass Tables:
(09/13/12 9:13am)
LOCUST WALK
(04/19/12 9:37am)
–6 if you cried when you heard ABP was closing. +6 if you somehow don’t know what ABP stands for. Good for you.
(04/12/12 9:46am)
Fried Oreos
Ask someone what happens in the Quad during Fling, and their first answer (after blacking out, fist fighting RA’s and using unlocked rooms as carpeted port–a–potties) will probably be Fried Oreos. Fat. Oil. Guilt. What more could you want?
When To Go: All day, every day.
Don’t Miss: The FlingSafe and SPEC volunteers jumping to the front of the line for instant trans–fatty goodness.
Minimum Number of Drinks For Maximum Enjoyment: Three. Sober enough to keep it down, drunk enough to not hate yourself for it.
(03/22/12 9:32am)
Thermos
Retail Cost: $16.98
Regular Use: Make it alive to your 9 a.m. class in style with this butt–ugly, postmodern attempt at a thermos!
Repurposed Use: Cram it full of things that make you warm/fuzzy/nostalgic (i.e. failed papers, vom–stained Fling tanks, pictures of skanky exes) and it makes the perfect time capsule! The people of the future won’t even know what hit them.
(02/14/12 11:47am)
Smash
Watch out Glee, there’s a new gay musical show in town, and it’s actually good. With an already well-received pilot, Smash sashays onto the scene with strong female leads, fresh cinematography, and, surprise!, enough flair to fund two pride parades and a comeback for The L Word. Kidding, it’s not that sassy, but the pilot’s a strong showing that proves Smash will be a force to be reckoned with in the coming season. So stick that in your bedazzled pipe and smoke it. [Mondays at 10 on NBC; you can watch the pilot in full on nbc.com, or download that ish for free on iTunes]
(02/02/12 10:23am)
Let me preface this review by noting the grudge I hold against Lana Del Ray for shaming SNL with the most breathy, awkward, wince–inducing performance I’ve seen since passing an asthmatic homeless woman choking out “At Last” in a New York subway station. That said, Born To Die isn’t as horrible as I wanted it to be. Sure, Del Rey’s roofied Marilyn Monroe vocals aren’t everybody’s cup of tea, but you gotta admit, she creates a convincing world. Full of unrequited love and lofty, if sometimes uncanny, orchestration, Born To Die’s universe is an enthralling one. No one will ever agree on the “gangsta Nancy Sinatra,” but it looks like she’s here to stay. Now someone teach that girl to lip sync.
(01/31/12 1:38am)
1. Spend As Little Time In Your Room As Possible
(01/19/12 10:24am)
I’m only a freshman, but newborn and noobish as I may be, I like to think I’ve figured some things out about this place. One of those very few things I know for sure is how almost nothing feels better than coming back to Penn. Where else does unrelenting intellectual stimulation meet heavy drinking at the corner of 36th and Walnut, right next to where that homeless man is lounging on a bench and a Greenpeace advocate is calling you a dick for ignoring him? But really, one of the other things I know for sure about Penn is to always pretend to be on the phone when you’re passing a Greenpeace advocate.